


And That Was That

by myotpruinedmylife



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Based off other fic, Kidfic, Not a mother mary, Parentlock, Sad, johnlock if you squint, uncle mycroft tells everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myotpruinedmylife/pseuds/myotpruinedmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was five when she asked the first time, but she didn't get an explanation until she was sixteen. Then again, as Uncle Mycroft said, Olivia's fathers had always been difficult regarding her mother - because they didn't understand Mary was human, and did love her daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And That Was That

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [3:07 a.m.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271983) by [azriona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona). 



> So this is based off of 3:07 a.m. by azriona.
> 
> I felt that it was important that Olivia was told what happened, and I felt only Mycroft would do it properly, so... Here you are.

She was five when she asked the first time.

“Daddy? Papa? I have a mum, right?"

Sherlock glanced at her. John sighed. He’d been expecting this, really. Unfortunately, by the look on his face, Sherlock had not.

John shot Sherlock a look before answering. “Yes, love, you do. But she couldn’t keep you. That’s why you have me and Papa."

“Why couldn’t she stay?"

Sherlock scoffed. John shot him another look. “It’s complicated, darling. We’ll tell you when you’re older."

Appeased for now, Olivia went back to playing.

\---

Olivia didn’t ask again until she was almost eight, and it was only because one of the kids in her class had teased her for not having a mum. She came home sobbing, and launched herself into John’s arms.

After she’d calmed down, she sniffed and looked up at him, blue eyes still watering. “Daddy, why couldn’t I have a mum like all the other kids?"

“Is that what all this is about?” John asked. She nodded and sniffed again. “Did someone tease you?” he suddenly asked darkly. She nodded again.

“But Daddy, I want a mum."

John sighed. “Love, I told you your mum couldn’t keep you."

“Yes,” she replied crossly, “and then you said you’d tell me why when I’m older. Well, I’m older!” She huffed and crossed her arms.

“Love, I know you’re older, but some things aren’t for little girls to hear. And besides,” he said before she could interrupt, “wouldn’t you rather have two dads who love each other and you very much than a mum and dad who are always cross with each other?"

She eventually nodded.

John smiled. “Now, tell me who this nasty bully was, and I’ll take care of them for you."

\---

She asked again, every once in a while, but as she got older, she got more perceptive and realized that her dads were avoiding the question. Finally, fed up and sixteen, she went to her Uncle Mycroft.

“Uncle Myc, why do my dads hate to talk about my mum so much?"

And Mycroft sighed, because he’d expected this too. “You’d better sit down."

And, realizing she was finally going to get an answer, she sat.

“You’re mother was known to us as Mary Elizabeth Morstan, and then she got married and she was Mary Elizabeth Watson."

Olivia gaped in surprise. “Like Dad?"

“Yes. Like your father. He’s your biological father, you know.” She nodded. She had known that. “Well, he was in love, and he was almost never in love because of Sherlock, but Sherlock left for a while and it wasn’t his fault but by the time he came back John had met your mother and wasn’t ready to forgive him. And he did love Mary, I want you to understand that. He loved your mother dearly. And she loved him, just not the same way."

“So what happened?"

“There was a man. His name was Charles Augustus Magnussen. He thrived on secrets; secrets he used to blackmail people to get what he wanted. And he wanted me, because I am the British government as your Papa likes to say, and he knew that my weakness was Sherlock, and Sherlock’s weakness was John, and John’s weakness was Mary. And Mary had a lot of secrets, secrets she didn’t want John to know about.

"So she broke into his office and was going to shoot him, except your fathers showed up at the same time. And Mary was desperate, so she knocked out Magnussen so John wouldn’t be blamed, shot Sherlock in the chest, and ran. Sherlock barely survived, but he did, and Mary too him to never tell John, but of course he did.

"And by then Mary had been pregnant with you for a while, and John needed you, and he was afraid Mary would run, so he pretended to forgive her and then an hour after you were born, you were whisked away and Mary was threatened until she had to leave, because your fathers were afraid of her. They do not realize that despite her… faults, she is human and she is capable of love, just not normal love. And she left, because she knew you would probably be better off without her."

Olivia processed this for a while, then asked, “What was her secret?"

“Mary Elizabeth Morstan died shortly after she was born, on October 14, 1972. The woman we thought was Mary was actually a very capable assassin who tried to retire. Who did retire, actually, she never did go back."

Olivia realized that she was not at all surprised by this. She nodded.

“One time, she was living in Argentina, and one of my men was killed in a car accident on her street. His name was Marco, and he was from Argentina. She had spent months collecting birds - not live ones, toys - because she heard you liked them. And she gave them to the family, and I figured it out and asked the family for just one of the birds. The most colorful one. And I gave it to you, for your third birthday. That bird, the one you love so much, that was your mother’s. Your fathers don’t know this, or else they wouldn’t have permitted it."

They were silent for a while, then Mycroft blurted out, “She visited you, once. When you were three."

Olivia had no idea how to react to that, so she said, “Oh."

“She showed up in the airport, and of course we recognized her and pulled her aside, and then she begged me to let her see you, just the once. And I realized that she needed it, to fully let you go, so I let her. With full supervision, of course. You used to go on walks in the park."

“I remember,” she whispered.

“It was fall. You fed the ducks, and then you were attempting your hat trick, and it fell in front of her. And she said something to you, but it seemed harmless so I let her, and then you left. And I sat next to her and she told me she had been keeping tabs on you, through John’s blog. She knew you loved birds and reading and your Grandmum had tried to teach you multiplication. I told her your Grandmum failed, because you were stubborn. And then she asked what lullaby they sang to you, and I didn’t know, but she hummed it and it was right."

“In My Life,” Olivia murmured. Her fathers still sang it to her, sometimes.

"And I gave her a drawing you made, of a songbird, and then she left."

Olivia felt like she was falling apart from the inside. “I feel like I remember that. She had blonde hair, but it was tinted ginger."

Mycroft didn’t look surprised. Olivia had an amazing memory and a strange perceptiveness for important people.

"She used to write you notes, you know. Would respond to your father’s blog entries, but she never posted them. I, of course, kept tabs on every person who accessed John’s blog and I managed to get my hands on them. I still have them. I’ve been keeping them for you. For when you’re ready."

In Mycroft speak, that meant _You’re not ready yet_. And usually she hated when other people made decisions for her, but this time she agreed, because she wasn’t ready. She had to process the new information.

“Don’t tell your dads I told you,” Mycroft said.

“I won’t,” Olivia promised.

The _thank you_  remained unsaid but heard by both.

\---

She wasn’t ready to read the notes until she was nearly nineteen. When she was, she sent Mycroft a text that simply said, _I’m ready_. And the next day, she got a letter in the mail.

In the letter was a collection of typed notes. The first said, at the top, “From your first Christmas."

_Happy Christmas and_

She felt like she understood. Her mother probably had no idea what to say

_I remember the last night I had with you, and I didn’t even have you. I was so impatient to see you, and you were just a day overdue. I couldn’t sit still, I went and folded all the little shirts and sleepsuits and tiny socks over and over, counted them up to make sure we had enough. Such tiny little socks! You were such a wiggly thing. Always moving. A dancer, I thought. When you were three, we’d put you in ballet and let you spin and spin and spin._

_I took ballet when I was three. I loved it so, so much. I stopped when I was five. I never understood why._

_I sang to you before you were born. “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.” And the Beatles, because I thought your dad might like it. “There are places I remember, all my life though some have changed.” I don’t know if your dad sings them to you. Maybe he does. I’d like to think so. Probably not._

_I like your name. I lived in an apartment filled with birds, until recently. I don’t know if they sell birds in the markets here. I’ll have to look. Do you still like the birds at the zoo?_

_I cradled you in me, that last night. I sang to you on the way to hospital. I sang to you in hospital, when the contractions weren’t too much. I was so excited to sing to you in my arms._

_You are the best, the most perfect thing I have ever done in my life. I know I’ve set a low bar, but…even if I’d been the best person in the world, you’d still be the only good thing I’d have ever done._

Mycroft had insisted she take ballet when she was three. She adored it. She stopped when she was five, for no reason anyone could find.

_Olivia, you’d never believe – there’s a market here where they sell real live birds! Ducks and chickens as well as songbirds. I shouldn’t have, but I bought a songbird. I don’t know why, I don’t think I’ll stay very long, but I kept thinking of how you’d beg for it, and I couldn’t say no. It’s tweeting away like mad. I haven’t named it yet. What do you think I should call it?_

_You should name it Mary_ , Olivia thought.

_There’s a children’s festival in downtown Seoul today; it’s a holiday for the whole country. Kites and puppet shows and dancing and everyone in their brightest colors, everyone dressed and smiling and I went for a little bit and danced with some children and smiled and laughed and thought how much fun you would have. Maybe not. There was a family – not Korean – with a little blonde girl, and everyone wanted to touch her hair or hold her or pat her, and you could tell she wasn’t having any of it, just wanted everyone to leave her alone. It’s the hair. It’s nothing personal, it’s just the hair._

_Do you have blonde hair? John never posts pictures of you. I think you must have blonde hair. John is so fair, and so am I. Do you have my eyes or his?_

_Yes_ , she thought.  _I have blonde hair and blue eyes, like Dad. What color are your eyes? I don’t know what you look like._

_I saw you, you know. Just a glimpse. They wouldn’t let me hold you, said you needed oxygen, and whisked you right out of the room. I didn’t get to touch you._

_I remember you slipping out of me, that feeling of fullness, and then…nothing. Like I was an empty shell. I felt empty for a long time after that. An empty husk just floating. I floated for the longest time. I’m still floating, I think._

_But I saw you. You were so small, and covered in birth mucous and blood and you looked fine to me, your skin was a bit jaundiced, I thought, but maybe that was the lights. The umbilical cord was purple and pearl._

_I didn’t feel them cut us apart. Not physically. Not for another hour, when Sherlock came in, and I think I knew, the moment I heard him walk into the room. I knew then, I’d never see you again. They’d never let me. They’d find a way to keep you away from me, no matter what they promised to do if I just gave myself up.  
You cried. The only time I ever saw you, you were crying. _

Olivia never cried. She wished her mother had seen her happy before she was taken. Happy to see her. She was happy when her mother visited, but not for her. She wished she had been.

_I saw the Taj Mahal last week. It was built for love. You were made from love. Your dad loved me. He really did, I know that, because that was me he loved, not some cardboard cutout that I made up. I was myself with him, even if he’ll never believe it. I let myself be myself with him, because of all the people in the world, I didn’t want to lie to him.  
_

_I did, though._

_I don’t want to lie to you, either. I would have made a terrible mother. I’m selfish and petty and I have a short temper and I hate the color pink. I would have dressed you in white, because I love white, which is just silly, because you’re a baby, you’re John Watson’s daughter, you would have found the nearest mud puddle and dove right in, and I would have been furious._

_I can’t imagine that I could love you any more than I do now, not knowing you. Is that strange?_

_No_ , she thought. _Because I feel the same way about you_.

_You are better off with them. I wake up in the middle of the night, and I hear sirens on the street, and I tell myself: you are better off with them. John would be such a good father. And Sherlock, the best sort of uncle, the kind who knows exactly how to get you into trouble and right back out again. And they love you so, so much. I can tell. They are so wonderfully protective and caring, and you are the luckiest little girl in the entire world to have them. You must know that._

_I did the right thing, going away, leaving you with them. They would never have felt safe if I’d stayed, no matter how many bars Sherlock put between us. There’d always have been the chance that you might have loved me._

_Do they tell you about me? You aren’t even old enough to ask._

_Do they tell you that I left because I loved you so much, I was scared that if I stayed, I would have destroyed you like I nearly destroyed your dad?  
_

_No, because they never talk about you_. Olivia started crying.

_Happy Birthday, Olivia. You’re three today. You’re walking and talking and every time I pass a little girl on the street, I think of you. There’s a park here – it’s not much of one, it’s falling to pieces and the trees look so sad, but the children race under the bits of shade and laugh and drink dark things out of plastic bags, and it makes you think of lazy weekends a hundred years ago, when everything was rose-colored and sepia-toned._

_I had a crazy thought yesterday. I won’t think it again._

Olivia knew what the thought was.

_There are places I remember_  
All my life though some have changed  
Some forever not for better  
Some have gone and some remain  
All these places have their moments  
With lovers and friends I still can recall  
Some are dead and some are living  
In my life I've loved them all

_But of all these friends and lovers_  
There is no one compares with you  
And these memories lose their meaning  
When I think of love as something new  
Though I know I'll never lose affection  
For people and things that went before  
I know I'll often stop and think about them  
In my life I love you more. 

_She loves me_ , Olivia thought. “She loves me,” Olivia whispered. “She loves me.” And Olivia cried.

\---

The next day, she went to her uncle and said, “I’m going to visit my mum."

He didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it. He knew he would fail. And he knew this was important.

He simply gave her a plane ticket to Costa Rica, because that’s where Olivia’s mother was living.  And he gave Olivia her mum’s current name and wished her good luck.

Her fathers thought she was going to look at a university in America. Olivia knew they wouldn’t understand.

When Olivia arrived, she felt nervous. What if she didn’t recognize her mum?

But she steeled herself, and went to her mum’s apartment, and knocked three times.

And there she was. Olivia could see herself in her mother, and her mother didn’t recognize her, but looked thoughtful, as though she knew her from someplace.

“Are you Angela?” Olivia asks.

“Yes,” her mother cautiously answers.

“My name is…” And suddenly she couldn't do it, couldn't reveal herself. Because if she did, then she might have gotten attached. One of them would, at least. And that would have broken her fathers’ hearts. So she lied. “My name is Molly. And… and I just… I used to live in Argentina.” She remembered her uncle telling her about the Argentina incident. “And I knew Marco, and I just, he talked about you sometimes, about your birds, and then we got them, and I just wanted to say thank you, because they were beautiful.” She still had her bird. She loved that bird. “So thank you."

And Angela - Mary - her mother’s eyes soften, and she said, “You’re welcome.” And in her eyes, Olivia saw that she knew exactly who Olivia was.

And so they both knew Olivia was lying, but they both pretended they didn’t know, and then Olivia said, “Goodbye,” and her mother shut the door.

And that was that.

_Fin_


End file.
